The Marriage Bargain

by Sandra Edwards

  His sister Lecie was maybe eighteen and the epitome of the beautiful girl-next-door. Camille knew the type. With her blonde hair and blue-eyed good looks, she was everything all the other girls in school detested yet desired to be. And she was probably nice as hell to boot.

  She hated it when she was forced to like those drop-dead gorgeous types—like Tasha.

  Camille fidgeted, lacing her fingers together behind her back. Julian slipped a hand comfortingly around hers. How was she ever going to convince his entire family? There were so many of them. Parents, a brother, a sister. She’d never experienced the chaos of a big family. It’d always been just her and Granny Mae. Even holidays were quiet.

  Lecie stepped toward Camille. Julian must have sensed her discomfort and slipped between them, making small talk with his sister and asking about her latest endeavors and if she’d chosen a university to begin her studies in the fall.

  “Somewhere far away from here,” she answered in near-perfect English.

  Camille laughed, thoroughly amused. She remembered feeling that way when she’d headed out for college. Now she’d give anything to talk to Granny Mae again.

  “Tell me,” Lecie turned to Camille. “Where did you two meet? Was it romantic? I want to hear all about it.” The enthusiasm in her voice fueled Camille’s mounting fear.

  She and Julian had never talked about where they were supposed to have met. They had to have a story, didn’t they? Asking people to believe they’d accidentally fallen in love after she answered his ad in the L.A. Trades was probably asking a bit too much.

  Camille squeezed Julian’s hand, hoping to impart some of her worry to him.

  “We’ll talk about that later.” Julian’s promising tone was convincing, even for Camille. “Right now, let’s let Camille settle in so she can rest before dinner.” He guided Camille up an outdoor set of stairs that looked like it was made of marble, and led to an impressive set of double doors.

  Lecie trotted up the steps after them, her devilish laughter tapping the worry receptors in Camille’s brain. Camille sought to push the alarm aside.

  “You’ll both need to rest up,” Lecie said, as if she was privy to some secret information. “Guess who’s coming to dinner?”

  If she said Madeleine, Camille would just burst.

  Julian raised an eyebrow. “How many guests are we having?”

  “Just a small party,” she said, with a teasing wink. “About thirty.”

  Camille’s heart jumped into her throat. It didn’t take a genius to realize Madeleine would be seated next to Julian while Camille, his supposed fiancée, would be at the other end of a very long table.

  Julian opened the double doors to the most elegant and extravagant foyer of marble and granite Camille had ever seen. Lecie grabbed her free arm and Camille clung to Julian with the other. He wrapped her arm around his. The strength of his hand atop hers was so male, so agreeable.

  “Over here,” he said, pointing to the right, “are a couple of salons, a library, and my father’s office.” Julian focused his attention in the opposite direction. “And over here are several dining rooms and the kitchen. It’s fully modernized now, but the old hearth my ancestors used is still intact and in working order.” He chuckled. “Not that today’s servants relish the idea of cooking over an open fire.”

  The fireplace in the kitchen intrigued Camille, but Julian led her to a spiral staircase just in front of them. Somewhere along the way they’d lost Lecie, and Camille found herself alone with Julian as they climbed the stairs.

  “You and I are on the third floor. Technically, the entryway is on the second.” He wrapped his arm around her midriff and her body tingled from the contact. She wondered what it would be like getting locked in Julian’s embrace, but she didn’t dare voice the thought out loud.

  He led her around a corner and swung a door open, gesturing her inside. From out of nowhere, Lecie appeared behind them.

  Camille put forth extra effort to push her doubts aside. She needed a friend in this place. The next six months might be unbearable without one. She stepped into the room, surprised to find her recent purchases and her luggage already inside the suite.

  Julian stopped in the doorway, blocking his sister’s entry. “We will see you in a little while,” he said, and closed the door between them.

  The most sorrowful look crossed his face when he turned to Camille. “I am sorry, Chéri. The thought of where or how we met never crossed my mind,” he said, extending his arms.

  Outstretched arms. Too tempting.

  She rested her forehead in the palms of her hands. Doubts over the mess wobbled her head. There were too many holes. Their story hadn’t been thought out clearly.

  “How are we ever going to make anyone believe you came to America last week, we fell in love and now we’re getting married?” Camille flung her hands into the air. “France would have to be full of a bunch of idiots for us to pull that off.”

  “Your friend believed it.” Julian beamed at her with a look that was as soft as a caress. A dizzying current raced through her. She had to get a hold of that emotion, and quick.

  “Well, not exactly. I didn’t tell her we just met.”

  “And I didn’t tell anybody we’d just met either.”

  Camille dropped onto a couch by a massive wall of windows overlooking an infinity pool that appeared to spill into the gardens below. Off in the distance, coastal mountains gave way to the Mediterranean.

  Now she understood why Granny Mae called them picture windows. This one, in her room, held the grandest view of all—especially when Julian stepped into the scene.

  “What did you tell your father?” Camille wanted to minimize the impact his presence was having over her, but she wasn’t having much luck. “You said he wanted you to marry Madeleine. What’d you do? Tell him you had a girl stashed away in the States?” She laughed at the ridiculousness of that notion.

  “Something like that.”

  “What?”

  “Last year, I spent some time, several months in New York City on business.” He showed no signs of relenting to his father’s wishes. “I told him that I couldn’t marry Madeleine because I was in love with someone else, a girl I’d met while in America.”

  Talk about lame.

  “And he bought that?”

  Julian’s smugness escaped in his complacent shrug. “I’m told he has a soft spot where I’m concerned. He wants to believe the best about me.” He tightened his lips to hold back the laughter and sat beside her. “I’ll admit, I have used that to my advantage more than once.”

  “You’d better remember that when you become a father.”

  Her laughter crawled up Julian’s leg and smacked him in the gut. When I have children. Julian wasn’t going to have children. But if he did, he could see Camille as their mother.

  Suddenly, the topic wasn’t funny anymore. This girl, an actress, was supposed to be a means to an end—not somebody that started him thinking about children. Realizing he was sitting too close for comfort, he backed away from her.

  Her eyes grew openly amused. “Uncomfortable talking about kids?”

  “It’s a little scary,” he admitted.

  She pushed aside the fleeting thought to wonder why. Adding to his anxiety wasn’t conducive. “So, you and I met when you were in New York last year.”

  “Yes.”

  “Where’d we meet?”

  “Hm....”

  “We can say I worked for one of your associate firms, writing technical reports.”

  Julian was surprised at the validity of her suggestion. Nobody would ask her about a job like that. “Perfect.”

  “But I need to say that I’m from L.A., because I don’t really know anything about New York.”

  “How would you like to abstain from tonight’s party?” he asked, hopeful. First, they’d ditch the millions of questions they weren’t prepared for. And second, he wouldn’t mind some alone time with his new wife.

  Her wh
ole face spread into an energetic smile. “Could we?”

  “You bet we can.” He leaned toward her and brushed his lips against her cheek. Her skin was so soft, intoxicating. “We’ll sneak out a couple of hours before dinner.” Devilish laughter rose in Julian’s throat, allowing him to regain his senses. Disappointment rolled over him at the thought of not being around to see Papa’s face when he realized they were gone.

  The possibilities of where to take her, where to woo her, filled his mind and chased away his fleeting regret. Wherever they went, it had to be special because it would take more than ordinary wining and dining to charm her into his bed.

  Julian slipped quietly through the chateau’s hidden passageways. He knew all the routes and intersections well, as he’d played in them as a child. The tunnels hadn’t changed. They were still dark, damp and daunting.

  He slipped into the east salon. It was empty. Thank god. Julian poured Scotch into a chilled glass and strolled to the window overlooking the east pool and rose gardens.

  Camille had caught him off guard when she said something about him having children. That’d never crossed his mind, much less the notion to settle down with just one woman. Least of all Madeleine.

  What was wrong with Madeleine? She was pretty enough. She’d been conditioned for the part since childhood. She was educated, polished, and personable. But Julian felt nothing when he looked at her. No spark.

  That’s why his decision to formulate this orchestrated marriage was the right thing to do. It’d save Madeleine some grief, his sanity, and a ton of money in the long run.

  Julian drained his glass and moved back to the bar. He poured another drink as a passageway door opened. A different one than he’d used.

  Andre. Julian found it ironic that his younger brother by three years had outgrown him by a couple of inches.

  Approaching Julian, Andre laughed. “Well, big brother,” he said, reaching for a bottle of bourbon and a glass. “You do have the market cornered on the shock factor.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Julian poured the drink into his mouth, savoring the whiskey’s cool bite.

  “You and father have an argument. The worst I’ve seen yet.” Andre studied Julian and took another drink of his liquid courage. “He wants an heir. And since you’re the oldest, he expects you to give him one.”

  “What’s your point?”

  “So you do what you do best,” he said, his tone growing bitter, less tolerant. “You disappear. Then, mysteriously, you return a week later with an American fiancée.”

  “Again. What’s your point, baby brother?”

  “Are we really expected to believe this is real?”

  “You think I’d marry someone if it wasn’t?” Julian asked.

  “You? Sure.”

  “If that were the case, it might as well be Madeleine.”

  “Anything not to marry Madeleine.” Andre reflected with grim amusement. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Somewhere deep down inside, Julian hoped his brother understood.

  “How well do you know this girl? How do you know she’s not—”

  “I’ve known her since last year, Andre. And make no mistake—” Julian waved a finger in Andre’s face. “—be very careful what you say about my wife.”

  “Your wife?” Andre gave him a sideways glance of utter disbelief.

  “Yes.” Julian sat the glass down and slid his hands inside his pockets. “Between you and me, Camille and I are already married.”

  “Married?”

  “Married.”

  Andre gave him a dismissive gesture. “You know Papa’s going to be furious. And he’s going to want a French wedding.”

  “Well, he can be pushy.” Julian was casually amused. “He won’t believe it’s real unless he witnesses it for himself.” He laughed to hide his discomfort over Papa’s control.

  Andre shook his head. “Man, I hope you don’t end up regretting this.”

  “There are no regrets.”

  “You just up and got married? I can hardly believe that.” Andre stroked his chin and studied Julian. “Pre-nup?”

  “Yes. We have a pre-nup.” Sarcasm crept into Julian’s voice. “I know what you’re thinking, but you’re mistaken.”

  Andre couldn’t be more wrong. Julian knew exactly what he was getting with Camille and how much it was going to cost him. Five million dollars.

  “For your sake, big brother, I hope you’re right.” Andre smirked and poured himself another drink. “I certainly don’t want her dipping into my children’s inheritances.”

  “You don’t have any children.”

  “Not yet. No.” Andre paused, sipping his bourbon. “But someday I think I might. And I don’t want your gold-digging wife stealing from them.”

  Rage almost choked Julian. Curses fell from his mouth as he grabbed his brother’s lapels and slammed him against the wall. He didn’t care whether he hurt Andre or not. Nor would he tolerate trash talk about Camille. He’d take that from no one.

  “Julian...!” Andre’s voice cracked.

  “Be. Very. Careful.” Julian’s jaw clinched as he tried to contain his anger. The fury quaked through him, diminishing as it rippled out. He reached up and gave Andre a light slap on the cheek. “Watch what you say about my wife.”

  Heated anger burned against Julian’s face. He was a fragile thread away from the breaking point, and by the looks of Andre—eyes widened with a mixture of fear and uncertainty—he saw it too. And when Julian snapped, nobody wanted to be in his path.

  Andre raised his hands in surrender. “All right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that about your girl.” He tried to squirm out of Julian’s grasp. Julian let him. “It was rude and inconsiderate.”

  Julian shifted his focus to his glass. He needed a refill. Why had he done that? He’d never raised a hand to his brother. “I’m sorry.” He overfilled his glass with more than the usual double shot. “I’m sorry,” he repeated himself, feeling like a heel. He’d always protected Andre, never threatened him. Julian drained his glass.

  “I hope she cares about you, half as much as you care about her.” Andre cleared his throat around his fragile, shaking voice and perched his hands on his hips. “If she does, you two will be all right.”

  Care about her? Disbelief and confusion muddled Julian’s brain. He didn’t care about her. What Julian cared about was his freedom.

  “You might be interested in knowing that Papa’s not taking this lying down.” Andre’s confidence returned with an agreeable nod. He slid his hands inside his pockets and stepped toward Julian.

  Andre’s words bothered Julian more than his closeness. He looked at his little brother. “What’s he doing?”

  One could never feel too comfortable when Maurice de Laurent implemented one of his crazy, harebrained schemes. Julian was well aware of where he’d acquired that trait. His own scheme had Papa written all over it. And if not for the fact that the idea was born to dupe him, his father would probably be proud of the ingenuity.

  Julian didn’t like the stark look on Andre’s face.

  Not Madeleine. “No....” The word ground out like tires bouncing over ruts in a gravel road. “Please tell me he hasn’t invited Madeleine here as our guest?” Even though he doubted his chances, he still held a flicker of hope that he was wrong.

  “That he has.” Andre’s reluctance was overshadowed by the message.

  “Why would he do that?”

  Was Papa really that sadistic? Sure, Julian didn’t want to marry Madeleine, but he didn’t have anything against her either. Not enough to induce him to force her to sit around and watch him marry another woman.

  “I suspect he thinks he can thwart your efforts to marry your American...wife.” Andre snickered, as if finding perverse pleasure in Julian’s predicament. “But, before you start feeling too sorry for Madeleine, remember...she and Papa are cut from the same cloth.” His voice took on a warning ton
e. “She won’t accept your engagement lightly either.”

  All the more reason to avoid this evening’s dinner party. Especially if Madeleine was going to be there, which she obviously was since she was in the house.

  Julian was going to have to intensify his efforts to shelter Camille now that Papa and Madeleine were obviously up to no good.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  JULIAN GAZED AT CAMILLE in her black dress with its crocheted look. It was sexy. An approving moan rumbled up his throat and he grabbed her hand, moving toward an inner wall inside the third floor salon. He glanced at her, winked and popped a wall panel open.

  A soft gasp escaped her. “What the....”

  “There are tunnels all over the estate.” He coaxed her inside. “We’ll make our escape through here.” It beat running into Papa, Claudette, or Madeleine in the hallways.

  “Ooh, I feel like a spy.” She giggled as they enter the dimly lit tunnel.

  Julian chuckled. “Yeah. A spy whose sanity depends on her escape.” He quickened his pace. He wasn’t the only one well-versed in these tunnel paths. The quicker they got outside and through the gardens, the better.

  They hurried through corridors, descended steps cut into the ground and rounded corners, all in near-darkness. Camille tightened her grip on his hand.

  “Don’t worry, Chéri. I know this place inside and out.”

  “God, I hope so.” Her rich laughter wrapped him in amusement.

  “We’re almost there,” he said in a low, husky voice.

  After a few more feet and another curve to the left, Julian gave Camille a tug and pulled her closer before stopping to push his way through the outside exit.

  The twilight of a setting sun filtered inside, casting a flattering glow over Camille. Her golden hair glistened like strands of lustrous glass, and he felt a ripple of excitement when her mouth curved into a tempting smile.

  “What are the chances somebody’s going to be waiting for us out here?” she asked, and he got the feeling she was trying to be funny. And she would be, so long as she wasn’t right.

  “I’ll let you know.” He checked the immediate area just outside the exit.